The Arkansaw traveler., 1887-07-23
A BLAST FROM A FUR
 MAGE.
BY COLONEL P. DOMAIN.

Fifty sunstrokes in day in New York. Thermometers standing at 1O2 in the shade in St. Louis and Pitts burg, and still higher in Little Rock, Nashville and Chattanooga. Street car mules and horses falling as if dead in their tracks. Even Chicago, the boasted great interior summer resort of the new world, fricasseeing her boodlers and anarchists, wheat-corner gamblers and pork lords in their own grease and villainy. Ninety degrees of d-hotness at midnight in many places. Sweltering and sweat all over the country.
 Tho heat, the heat, the terrific, roasting, sum
 mer rsickening heat.
 above is brazen,
 And every head as good as dead the sun can The lean, iank looking skeletons go stalk
 ing pale and gloomy;
 The fat, like red hot frying pans, send hot
 ter fancies through me.
 wake from dreams of polar ice. on which
 I've been slider,
 Like fshes dreaming of the sea ana waxing
 in the "spider.
 Wh-e-e-ew whew! Fucker your mouth by three weeks diet of alum or green persimmons, and whistle that. Whe-e-ew! whew! Blue blazes of the great Sahara; Nebuchadnezzar's fiery skillet; Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego; flaming birthstone showers of Sodom and Gomorrah; Vesuvius, Etna, Stromboli and Popocatapetl :; bubbling witch -caldrons and exasper- ated bald-hornets' nests; smoking, sizzling, scorching home of the great patron saint of most of American statesmen and statesmanship-how hot it is! Onless the people speedily begin to send better men to munich pal. state and national legislatures, it will soon be dog days all the year in this country.) Hot! So hot that my blood boils within me till my hat dances on my head like an infuriated teakettle lid. can hear my soul sloshing around like a teacupful of scalding grease every time I move.
 Oh, for chunk of the worlds cold charities to slip into my seething bosom before my gizzard is totally cooked. Oh, for the bleak winds of diversity to fan my blistering brow. And oh, for chance to dip my tongue of parched and cracking leather into the dark, chill waters of the dreaded Jordan. Oh,. for the frost of years and the snows of old age. Oh, for the touch of an icy hand, or the freezing glance of naughty damsePs eye. Oh, for fower-garden of polar bears and a sunless grove of Alaska icebergs. Oh, for a cave in Kamschatka, hundred and-sixty -acre homestead of Spitz- bergen frigidity, an icicle-gemmed grotto in the basement story of the aurora borealis. Oh, for blue nose and a pair of frost bitten heels. Oh, for any thing cool and cooling, from a mint julep or teeth-rattling .tertian ague to cup of cold poison or sec- tion of Japanese frozen hell.
 Hot! Talk of Indian widows con- sumed on their husbands funeral piles, instead of drawing their ten- thousand dollar life-insurance policies, and mar rying other fellows in six months, as they do in more enlightened lands. Talk of hapless heather babes de- voured by Moloch's horrid flames, in- stead of being reared to sport scanty side whiskers, eyeglasses, bob-taiied coats and crape-banded plug hats, paniers, patent infatable gunjun-rub- Der bustles, dyed hemp chignons, Gre cian-bend heels and Gainsborough hats, as in Christian realms. Talk of missionaries, tender and toothsome, barbecued by the dusky descendants of the Queen of Sheba on the banks of the gently rolling Zambesi or the sportive Niger. Talk of Nero illum- mating Rome with Standard Oil-com- pany- kerosene- soaked Episcopalians. Talk of pagan hecatombs and holo- causts. But, psh-sh-sh-s shew! They all dwindle into the little end of noth- ing, whittled down and polished of with pulverized rotten-stoDe. Here in free America-free for all but Americans-in the last quarter of the nineteenth century, amid all the blaze of gospel light and liberty, and the glare of anarchistic bombs, sixty mill lions of men, women, children, politi- clans, dudes and other dime-museum freaks are being slowly but surely roasted, boiled, stewed, fried, fricas-